Gravity, Collision
by pickledoatmeals
Summary: Destiel meets JohnLock.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Gravity, Collision

**Author: **pickledoatmeals (S.H. Collins)

**Characters/Pairings:** _(for this chapter only)_ Dean/Castiel, Sam, Mrs Hudson

**Rating:** _(for this chapter only)_ Gen

**Summary:** Destiel meets Johnlock.

**Warnings:** Not beta'd, OOCness, this doesn't make sense

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N:** I wanted to see my top two OTPs interact with one another so badly I made a crappy fanfic ._.

* * *

**I.**

"I can't believe that you made me do this," Dean said, angrily stomping with his luggage trailing behind him, "First, you made me go to freaking England for a case, then you made me ride a freaking airplane. I even left my Baby behind. Tell me again how did you convince me?"

Sam sniggered at his brother's discomfort. "Because demons are migrating from US to UK, and we need to know why."

Sam saw a cab approaching. He hailed it while his brother continued to fume behind him.

"Cas isn't even here," he heard his brother mutter.

The cabbie helped the Winchesters haul their luggage inside the cab. Once seated inside, Sam told the cabbie, "Hamiltons Hotel."

"He went ahead of us, Dean. He's probably waiting inside your hotel room."

Dean paused for a moment, then leered. "Oh, I can forgive him for going ahead of us."

"Whatever you're thinking, don't say it."

.

.

Dean marched down from Room 106 to Room 114. He opened to door with such force that it almost banged against the way, and saw his brother unpacking his luggage. "Cas is not in our room. I've been calling him, but it's all voicemail."

Sam stopped what he was doing. "Maybe he went out? Just stop panicking, Dean. Cas is older than both of us. He's a grown man. He might have even toured Europe centuries ago."

"But he's human now, and there's no guarantee that he knows this place. Do you mind calling him?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He dialled Cas's number, held the phone against his ear for a few moments, then turned to Dean to say "Voicemail."

Dean closed his eyes to think. "His phone has a GPS, right?"

.

.

After finding out that Cas is at a place called 'Speedy's Cafe' at Baker St, Sam and Dean were resisting the urge to bang their heads against the wall for not thinking of finding Cas through GPS earlier. They were also wondering why is Cas at this place, which, according to Google Maps, is some kind of diner, when there are diners around the hotel they're staying at.

Dean laments the absence of his Baby as they sit in the cab. He wonders how she's doing in the garage inside the Bunker. He thinks of the layer of dust that might settle on her.

He thinks of this person Cas wanted them to meet, and the reason why he went ahead of them.

.

.

Cas was sitting stiffly inside Speedy's. He's sure that Dean will be mad at him for not staying in their hotel room, or for going ahead (even if they talked about it already), but he wants to see Mrs Hudson as soon as possible.

He first met Mrs Hudson years ago. He was still an angel, he hasn't pulled Dean out of Perdition yet, and Mrs Hudson almost got mugged in the alleys. He happened to land on London for a pit stop, and he chanced upon that moment of some goon pressing a gun to Mrs Hudson's skull. He immediately stopped the crime from progressing (only using his superhuman strength so as not to startle the poor woman), and he found himself sitting inside Mrs Hudson's flat in Baker St later, a fresh slice of shepherd's pie and a warm cup of tea in front of him.

When he heard that they were going to London for a case, he said that he'll go ahead of Dean and Sam to take care of some business. There were a few quibbles, but Dean finally relented. Cas then searched for Mrs Hudson, and was pleased to see that she's still living in the same place.

He was also glad when Mrs Hudson remembered him, and when she engulfed him in a warm embrace. He was ushered inside once more, and was offered cherry pie this time. And of course, a cuppa. Brits never forget their tea.

But that was last night, when she asked why he came to see her. He said that he's in London, and remembered her, so he might as well visit her. He didn't say the true nature of his visit—that he was there for the migrating demons. He only told her that her occupants might be able to help him.

He first heard of Sherlock Holmes a few years ago. He was the talk of angels and demons, debating whether he's seeking the help of supernatural creatures, or if he made a deal with a demon to help solve cases. But the consulting detective proved that his feats were the result of his massive intellect, and not some preternatural forces, so they left him alone.

Demons, however, wanted to use him, but Castiel lurked in the shadows and protected him. He drew wards and sigils all over the flat, but made sure that they'll never get noticed, or else Mr Holmes's attention might complicate matters.

Years later, he heard about his fake suicide and 'return from the grave'.

He wanted to meet Mr Holmes last night, but Mrs Hudson said that her boys weren't home, so he waited until today. Dean will be disappointed to find out that he hasn't accomplished this agenda—the reason why he went ahead in the first place.

Now, he was sitting in front of Mrs Hudson, and was about to ask if Mr Holmes and Mr Watson are home, when Dean entered the establishment with Sam.

"Cas!" Dean said, running towards him, and stopping only a few inches in front of him, "What the hell were you thinking, man? You could have at least answered my calls."

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said, "But I thought that I'd finish things last night. There were some unforeseeable circumstances, so I proceeded to finish them today."

Dean placed his hand on the other's shoulder and said, "It's okay, Cas. But answer your phone next time, okay?"

Cas smiled. "I understand."

He turned to Mrs Hudson, who was already conversing with Sam. Sam looked like a child off to Disneyworld.

"And that," Sam said animatedly, "Is my brother Dean, Castiel's boyfriend."

Dean extended his arm to Mrs Hudson. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said, then gestured vaguely towards Cas's direction, "I hope that this isn't going to be a problem."

Mrs Hudson chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. I've got married ones."

Cas widened his eyes. "Sherlock Holmes is married to John Watson?"

"Yes, they are," she said, "Though John is still embarrassed to put that in his blog."

"I never noticed!" Sam said, "I was detecting overtones in his blog, but I never thought that they were in a relationship. Married, no less!"

"Hold on, Sam," Dean said, "Why are you acting like a fanboy?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" Sam said, "Cas, is the reason why you went ahead is because you wanted us to meet Holmes and Watson?"

"Wait wait wait," Dean interrupted, "I'm afraid that I'm not catching up?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Dean? You don't know Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?"

"I'm not a nerd like you, so enlighten me."

"Enlighten me as well, Sam," Cas said, "I never knew that you know Mr Holmes and his... husband."

"I read his blog," he answered, "And I got excited when I learned that you know their landlady."

"What's so great about this Holmes guy anyway?" Dean asked.

"He's a consulting detective," Sam said, and added hastily, "He invented the job."

Dean looked at Cas. He recognised the 'I'll-tell-you-more-later' look.

"If you want to meet my boys," Mrs Hudson said, "I'll tell them that you want to see them. Perhaps tomorrow would be convenient? Around two in the afternoon, so we can all have tea."

"That's great," Sam beamed.

"We'll see you tomorrow then, Mrs Hudson," Cas said, and embraced her like she did last night.

* * *

**A/N:** John and Sherlock will appear next chapter. Please tell me what you think. Thank you! :))


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Gravity, Collision

**Author: **pickledoatmeals (S.H. Collins)

**Characters/Pairings:** _(for this chapter only)_ Dean/Castiel, Sam, John/Sherlock, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Anderson (mentioned)

**Rating:** _(for this chapter only)_ Gen

**Summary:** Destiel meets Johnlock.

**Warnings:** Not beta'd, OOCness, this doesn't make sense

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N:** I wanted to see my top two OTPs interact with one another so badly I made a crappy fanfic ._.

* * *

**II.**

"So Cas heard of this Holmes guy on the angel radio, and you read his partner's blog? Am I getting things right?" Dean asked.

They were on a cab back to their motel. Hell, if they knew the streets, they might just have walked, or better, drove his Baby instead. But she's sitting in the Bunker garage back at Lebanon, Kansas, while the three of them were in London, talking about some detective.

"And why do you want the help of this detective? We can solve cases on our own," he asked Cas.

"Like I told you," Cas replied, "Mr Holmes once caught the eye of demons. The migrating demons might also catch wind of his name. It is important that we tell him what dangers he might face."

Sam snorted. "That's not going to work, Cas. He doesn't believe in supernatural creatures, and he's not one of nicest guys you'll ever meet. I think that he's worse than Dean."

"Hey!" Dean said.

.

.

"No," Sherlock said stubbornly.

"Sherlock, these men flew all the way from America to seek your help. Can you at least have them for tea?" John said.

Mrs Hudson told them about the three Americans who came to see them. She also told them about Castiel, who helped her not get robbed years ago. Now, she is in her boys's flat, trying to convince Sherlock to at least listen to what the three have to say. And as she expected, it's taking a lot harder than they thought.

"They wouldn't have flown to London if it's an easy case," Mrs Hudson said, sipping the tea from her cup.

"No," Sherlock repeated, "I do not have interests in banal cases."

"How would you even know that it's banal?" John retorted, "You might never know, but this might turn out to be another Hounds of Baskerville case. At first you thought that it was just a case perpetuated by Henry Knight's 'childhood trauma', but it was more than that. You even enjoyed it," John explained.

"My answer remains the same," Sherlock said, and his phone beeped. "Oh, Lestrade has a case. He needs us as soon as possible. Coming?"

John rolled his eyes and glanced at Mrs Hudson, who gave them the look of 'off you go to the party, boys!'. They grabbed their coats, and before descending downstairs, Mrs Hudson said, "I'll tell them to come, whether you'll receive them or not!"

.

.

"Where to this time?" John asked.

Sitting at the back of the cab with his husband has become a routine since they started solving cases years ago. The lights from the London sidewalk blur as they drove by, and all he could see were colours shaped in circles or straight lines bleeding into one another.

"Lestrade's house," Sherlock answered.

"Lestrade's house?" John asked, surprised. "Not Scotland Yard or a crime scene in God knows where?"

"You heard me right, and I wouldn't repeat it."

"Sometimes, I wonder why I married you."

Sherlock smirked.

.

.

The moment John saw Lestrade's sombre expression was all he needed to know that something wasn't right, that this is, somehow, much worse than serial killers and bombers and consulting criminals. In crime scenes and other cases, Lestrade's countenance is that of someone who's so used to seeing those kinds of things that he seems flippant about it, but the set of his face greatly differs this time. His eyes are more sunken, frown too deep, and his voice when he greeted them is a tad deeper, ominous, even.

Sherlock glanced at the dimly-lit hallway and the saw the shoe rack nearby. "I see that your wife is still sleeping with another."

If things weren't of a grim nature, John is sure that Lestrade will look affronted, but this… thing is keeping his face from conveying his expressions. John settled in muttering under his voice, 'Tact, Sherlock, tact!'

"I've never seen anything like this before," Lestrade said, "He is a police officer. I never knew that he took drugs. Or even had the capacity to hide that he uses drugs."

Lestrade began leading them along the hallway, and John thinks that they might be going to the basement.

"It's not surprising," Sherlock said, "That an officer of Anderson's IQ will be able to slip off narcotics right under the nose of an equally incapacitated detective inspector."

Said detective inspector just rolled his eyes, clearly not having the strength to retort Sherlock's caustic remarks.

"It's hard to believe that Anderson used drugs," John said, filling in the silence.

Once they reached the basement, Lestrade turned on the lights, and the sight of an empty chair, loose ropes, and broken handcuffs greeted them. Greeted them unexpectedly, judging from Lestrade's yells of 'He was just here! I just answered the door to get the two of you, and now he's gone! It hasn't been even three minutes! I swear, he was just here!'

"Calm down," John tried to pacify him, "He might still be near. We can still catch him."

"We have a raging stoned Scotland Yard officer with the intelligence of a rock," Sherlock said in a chipper tone definitely not fit for the scene, "This is more interesting that those Americans trying to consult me."

"What drugs did he use, then?" John asked.

"I… I don't know," Lestrade answered softly.

"You don't know?" Sherlock asked mockingly, "I don't have any words for your incompetence, Detective Inspector."

"We need to catch Anderson, in case you're forgetting," John reminded them, but Lestrade ignored him.

"I don't know, okay! That's why I called you! Because I don't know any drugs that can completely turn your eyes into black!"

For a moment, only the sound of their breathing echoed in the basement, until John broke it.

"Black eyes…?" he asked.

Sherlock's expression was that of someone who never thought that he didn't know such a thing, that a miniscule fact wasn't stored in his mind palace, that he didn't know everything, but he quickly schooled his features.

"Yes," Lestrade answered, "Completely black. Not a speck of white or any other colour. Besides, he wasn't acting like himself. He kept grinning and cackling. Thrashing, even. What am I supposed to think other than he's taking drugs? That his inner psychopath suddenly surfaced? I don't think that Anderson has the capabilities of becoming a psychopath."

"You're correct in assuming that Anderson lacks the capabilities of becoming a psychopath," Sherlock said, "But a drug that completely turns your eyes into black and causes someone to behave differently… I'll have to investigate that."

"That Anderson guy is not using drugs," said someone from behind them. American accent, John recognises, "He's been possessed by a demon."

"Possessed by a demon?" Sherlock snarled, then turned to face the direction of the voice. Standing before him were three men, knives and guns in their hands. "And are you the three buffoons Mrs Hudson mentioned?"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Holmes, I presume? I'm Dean Winchester, and we're here to tell you what's going on."

* * *

**A/N:** I hit a wall while writing this, so I looked at my little black notebook and saw 'Anderson gets possessed by a demon lololololol'. I'm thanking my bank of ideas for that. And I'll poking fun at demon!Anderson. I'm having all sorts of ideas. Hehehe.

Aaaaaand I apologise for the quick pacing. The quality is already not great, and it suffered more due to the rushed writing.

Please tell me what you think, and the corrections you'll spot. Thank you! :))


End file.
